Although it can be argued that they are still being made, the 'spoof' movie really died a death in the 1990's. Recently, there have been tragedies such as Epic Movie (2007) and its various imitations, all of which were the cinematic equivalent of sticking your cock in a blender. They used to be the forte of comedic giants and legends such as Mel Brooks, Carl Reiner and the Monty Python crew. David Zucker, Jerry Zucker and Jim Abrahams made perhaps the last great spoof in Top Secret!, a relentless parody of spy thrillers that seems unfairly forgotten in the wake of ZAZ's (Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker) more popular Airplane! (1980) and The Naked Gun (1988).
With East Gemany planning an attack during a cultural festival, they invite American rock 'n' roll singer Nick Rivers (Val Kilmer) to perform as a distraction for the audiences. Rivers, a sort of Beach Boys meets Elvis Presley, soon gets embroiled in the French resistance movement when he meets the beautiful Hillary Flammond (Lucy Gutteridge) who is searching for her missing father Dr. Paul (Michael Gough). Along with a group of misfit revolutionaries with various French pun's for names, and Hillary's lost-love Nigel (Christopher Villiers), they must break into the high-security prison where Dr. Paul is being held.
Top Secret! is a film of such effortless hilarity, it's a wonder how and why the three directors behind it parted ways and made such drivel as Jane Austen's Mafia! (1998), Rat Race (2001) and Scary Movie 3 (2003), highlighting just how much they needed each other. It offers near to non-stop sight-gags that vary from the inspired (a train station pulling away from the train) to the downright ridiculous (a character gets crushed in a car then is seen later with his arms and legs sticking out of it, still alive), nearly all of which hit the mark. But there's also clever word play, and that lost art - embracing the stereotype. Would a film nowadays get away with calling it's only black character Chocolate Mousse?
There are literally too many funny scenes to mention, but the one that had me in stitches is the scene in which Nigel and Du Quois (Harry Diston) dress up as the rear and front of a cow, when a real cow comes to suck on its udders, much to the pleasure of Nigel. They stop, with Du Quois insisting they make haste, and Nigel replies "you're always in such a bloody hurry!". It's marvellously old-school, headed by a wonderful performance from Kilmer, who as well as getting plenty of belly laughs himself, also proves himself to be a bloody good dancer in the few performance scenes he has. But it is also a sad reminder of just how good this sub-genre used to be.
Rarely is there a movie that can in equal measures make you want to cry and embrace the power of love, while at the same time reach for the sick bag. Yet Sick, Kirby Dick's powerful documentary of sadomasochistic performance artist and poet Bob Flanagan, achieves this to a quite startling effect, taking us through his art career, his often bizarre sexual practices, his relationship with partner/dominator Sheree Rose, and his battle with cystic fibrosis. Dick juxtaposes Flanagan's lust for pain and humiliation alongside his crippling disease, which often left him hospitalised for days on end, and what eventually killed him.
Personally, I'm all for people doing whatever makes them tick (as long as it's legal), and if someone gets turned on by someone inserting a large silver ball up their arse, then crack on. But for us with 'normal' sexual preferences, sadomasochism can seem a strange act, especially for someone suffering from an incurable disease. What is remarkable about Sick is the sensitivity in which Dick handles the subject, never patronising and mis-portraying Flanagan, yet showing his acts for what they are - squirm-inducing, but undeniably fascinating - and above all else, it is clearly a tower of strength for Flanagan, a way to control his body while his disease slowly destroys it.
Admittedly, his somewhat simplistic art left a lot to be desired, but it is in his writing where he comes alive. Seen in archive clips playing guitar and singing, Flanagan is so endearing due to his sense of humour. He knows the world saw him as a freak, but he embraced it, turned it into art, and is still one of the longest-living sufferers of CF. But beneath all the chains, scars and piercings lay a warm human being, and as his disease overwhelms him, we have to witness his slow death in front of his partner Sheree. The 'Hammer of Love' scene, in which Flanagan hammers a nail into the end of his penis, will have you covering your eyes in horror, but it is Bob's final moments that will linger in the memory as he stares up at his love, taking his harsh, final breaths. Simply amazing, heart-breaking documentary film-making.
Back in 2001, when critics and audiences alike were raving about a new film called The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, I was reluctantly dragged to the cinema to spend three hours watching hobbits and wizards battling orcs and trolls, with lengthy moments of, well, not much, in between. I was relatively disappointed given the excitement surrounding the film, and was left perplexed at how well-received it was. As the months went on, and the DVD release approaching, the film somehow got better in my head, and I felt myself getting impatient to see it again. It finally came out, and I watched it every day for a week. I fell in love with the film, and it ultimately became my Star Wars - a film I could recite from memory, and one that will always be beloved to me. So almost ten years since the release of The Return of the King (2003), and after a change of director, numerous legal wranglings and a perforated ulcer, we finally have Peter Jackson's release of The Hobbit.
For a children's book of only approximately 300 pages, J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit is hardly on the scale of The Lord of the Rings, so it was surprising when the announcement was made that it would in fact take place over two films. Great news, I thought, as this would give Jackson time to flesh out the story and give the vast number of characters (namely the thirteen dwarves who are often indistinguishable in the book) some much-needed depth. When filming wrapped in summer of this year, even Tolkien die-hard's we're shocked when a third instalment was announced, and that Jackson would not only film The Hobbit, but also integrate some aspects of Tolkien's many appendices to tell a richer tale and expand the universe. So with An Unexpected Journey came an unexpected trilogy (thanks for that line, Marc), and for those accusing Jackson of simply seeing dollar signs, I ask you if you truly believe the man who wore an old jacket and Hush Puppies to the Academy Awards, and who directed low-budget delights such as Bad Taste (1987) and Braindead (1992), really seems the type to care only for his wallet?
For those unacquainted with the plot, The Hobbit tells the story of a young Bilbo Baggins (Martin Freeman), a hobbit who lives peacefully in his home in Bag End until eccentric wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen) comes knocking. Soon enough, Bilbo finds his home overrun by 13 dwarves, who, on the advice of Gandalf, wish to employ Bilbo as a burglar in their plan to take back their hoard of gold from Erebor, a mountain that was once the pride of Thror, the dwarf king. Years before, the mountain was attacked by the dragon Smaug and the dwarfs were scattered, ending years of prosperity. Thror's grandson, Thorin Oakenshield (Richard Armitage), a legendary warrior, doubts Bilbo's purpose, but lets the reluctant hobbit come anyway. On the road they are destined to meet many perils, as rumours of a greater evil gathering power is brought to Gandalf's attention by the reclusive wizard Radagast (Sylvester McCoy).
For those wanting more of the same magic that came back in 2001, you'll be in for a treat. For those wanting a great film in it's own right will be left sorely disappointed. The near-perfect structure and pacing of Fellowship in mirrored here almost exactly, with a lengthy introduction set in the Shire, a stop-off at Elf kingdom Rivendell, a huge cave battle in the Misty Mountains, and a final battle against a hoard of rampant orcs. And while this approach evokes fond memories of those years between 2001 and 2003, it also slightly undermines The Hobbit as a great story in its own right. Therefore, certain incidents that occur throughout the film feel thrown in to create some kind of bond between it and Lord of the Rings. Gandalf says to Bilbo, "every great story deserves a little embellishment," and this is a clear wink from Peter Jackson to the fans that his intention is to simply expand and elaborate on Tolkien's universe, rather than meddle with it.
Personally, I'm all for Jackson's idea to widen the universe, as long as the results are good enough. The addition of the wizard Radagast is a nice diversion from the central plot, and his encounter with the mysterious Necromancer (played by Benedict Cumberbatch, who will also voice Smaug in the later films) adds a darkness to a relatively light story to rival Sauron's menace in Lord of the Rings. But without an established 'bad guy' (as Smaug is only briefly glimpsed here), Jackson has thrown in the giant goblin Azog (Manu Bennett) to provide an enemy for Thorin, who witnessed his father's beheading at the hands of Azog in the defence of Moria. He provides a suitably despicable villain, but fails to show any real dimension when compared to the likes of Saruman (Christopher Lee) from the original trilogy.
As well as Lee, Cate Blanchett, Ian Holm and Elijah Wood also reprise their roles (given they weren't in the book) as Galadriel, Old Bilbo, and Frodo respectively, and although their appearances are relatively pointless, they add a familiar face and help add to the feeling of continuity. If there's one thing the film nails, it is the celebrated Riddles in the Dark chapter, where Bilbo meets Gollum (Andy Serkis) and unwittingly discovers the One Ring. It's a truly brilliant scene, one of the major standouts in the entire saga, as Serkis delivers another truly exceptional motion-capture performance. His split-personality was magnificently documented in The Two Towers (2002), but here we witness a truly pathetic creature, reduced to pure desperation upon realisation his beloved ring has disappeared. As an invisible Bilbo watches him, Gollum's eyes are filled with a mixture of blind panic and sheer grief. It's another triumph for the special effects wizards at WETA.
It's difficult not to keep comparing this to the previous trilogy as this is very much its own story, but Jackson's insistence in linking the films makes it impossible. An Unexpected Journey doesn't come close to the satisfaction of The Fellowship of the Ring, yet it's still explosive, enthralling and honed with the same amount of love and dedication. Martin Freeman proves a warm lead, although he isn't given the screen time he and his character deserve. Armitage is also a success, but his character channels the same reluctant angst as Viggo Mortensen's Aragorn and is (at this point in the story) merely a warrior to cheer in comparison to the gentler Bilbo. Yet the sequels will determine the trilogy's legacy, and I hope The Desolation of Smaug and There and Back Again (due 2013 and 2014) will expand on An Unexpected Journey's satisfying opener.
Having made his name primarily in the comedy genre, silent superstar Douglas Fairbanks continued his transformation into swashbuckler with this lavish fantasy epic. Made on grand sets that rivalled the likes of Cabiria (1914), thanks to some spectacular set design by William Cameron Menzies, and featuring some ground-breaking visual effects, the real attraction of The Thief of Bagdad is Fairbanks himself, who compensates for some quite outlandish over-acting with an irresistibly athletic performance. The 1940 remake (for which Menzies was once of a few uncredited directors) cast Sabu as the titular thief, but relegated him to the sidekick of John Justin's Prince Ahmad. Perhaps the makers felt that making a petty thief the hero was a little more than the audience could accept, and so this works as a testament to the effortless likeability of Fairbanks.
The Thief (Fairbanks) roams Bagdad, taking what he pleases and going wherever his legs will take him. Unmoved by religion, he seeks any opportunity to steal, telling a holy man "What I want, I take!". Seeking the ultimate treasure, he and his associate (Snitz Edwards) break into the palace of the Caliph (Brandon Hurst), where he discovers the Caliph's beautiful daughter (Julanne Johnston) laying asleep. Yet when the guards are alerted, the Thief flees. With the Princess' birthday the next day, Bagdad awaits the mighty rulers and Prince's of other kingdom who will pay tribute to the Princess in the hope of winning her heart. The Thief plans on stealing her, yet when a twist of fate causes the Princess to love him back, he must embark on a mighty quest to bring her the rarest gift he can find, in the hope of winning the favour of her father.
With a hefty running time of 150 minutes, The Thief of Bagdad naturally suffers from some lengthy un-eventful periods, occasionally shifting its focus to the plans of the Mongol Prince (Sojin) to win the Princess by force and take over the city of Bagdad. But this is fantasy in its purest form, with magic ropes and carpets, various giant monsters, and a winged horse, all giving the opportunity for some dazzling and charming special effects that prove to be quite spectacular retrospectively. The film is an absolute visual delight, with the grand sets simply blowing my mind in an age of lazy CGI work. But like I said before, the true star is Fairbanks, failing to convince as an Arab but giving a performance of wonderful athleticism that pose no question as to why he was an absolute superstar in his day. The 1940 remake is certainly better remembered, especially for its glorious Technicolour cinematography, but Raoul Walsh's 1924 effort is simply beautiful, with some genuinely thrilling moments during it's climatic final third.
Following his shocking suicide earlier this year, director Tony Scott's legend was cemented, with actors and fellow directors flooding to pay tribute to the man that delivered the likes of The Last Boy Scout (1991) and Crimson Tide (1995). Personally, with the greatest respect, I feel his death has overshadowed what was a relatively average career, in which his finest achievement, the Tarantino-scripted True Romance (1993), was possibly his most low-octane film, given that he is most fondly remembered for his work in the action field. Therefore, it seemed the perfect time to re-visit his most popular film, Top Gun, the high-fiving homoerotica-fest that cemented the careers of both Scott and star Tom Cruise, a film that they are still, 26 years later, best remembered for.
With top fighter pilot Cougar (John Stockwell) losing his nerve during a dogfight and dropping out of the Air Force, hot-shot pilot Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell is offered the chance to join the Top Gun flight school. Fancying himself as the best of the best, Maverick, along with his RIO lieutenant Goose (Anthony Edwards), sets about establishing a name for himself with grand stunts and a cocky attitude, almost coming to blows with his fellow elite students, namely Iceman (Val Kilmer). He even finds time to romance instructor Charlie Blackwood (Kelly McGillis). But when a tragic accident occurs, Maverick must do a bit of soul-searching, and question his ability to live up to the legend of his father.
For a film that remains so immensely popular, Top Gun is shockingly bad. The almost unbearable swagger of the now slightly creepy Scientology dwarf Tom Cruise leads to many moments of teeth-grinding anger-inducement, with the much-imitated You've Got That Lovin' Feeling karaoke moment being simply embarrassing. But with most square-jawed, Reagan-era 1980's action films comes much hilarity, with the best-selling soundtrack proving to be the king of synthesised cheddar, and the near-constant homoeroticism questioning the era's view of a 'man's man'. The volleyball scene is especially jaw-dropping, with slow-motion arse-slapping and greased-up torso's aplenty, playing out like a pre-sex ritual by Cruise and Kilmer.
The film is real justification of Tony Scott's reputation as a great action director. The dogfight scenes are filmed beautifully, with rapid editing and spectacular framing generating real excitement between all the crud (especially impressive given the cost of flying these machines and the heavily-restricted time-frames in which the crew had to shoot within). Yet whenever the film is in danger of getting quite good, it delves into another cliche or shifts the focus back to the uninvolving romance between Maverick and Charlie, with scenes involving Maverick's inner-demon fighting especially causing the fists to clench. With a film having the ability to be so bad and rather good in equal measures, it's hard to really justify it's massive fan-base and endless imitations, yet it's also difficult to deny.
After spending the first few years of his career on traditional 'nudie cuties', director Russ Meyer made his first foray into 'real' film-making with 1964's Lorna, written by and starring James Griffith. Though his colourful visuals and sense of humour were evident in the likes of The Immoral Mr. Teas (1959) and Eve and the Handyman (1961), these films were still very much confined to being nothing more than a peep show. With Lorna, Meyer resorted to black-and-white photography, but whether this was for budgetary reasons or stylistic choice, I don't know. But the decision to shoot this way gives the film more gravitas, and the attention is moved away from the big-breasts and onto the story and script, giving birth to the auteur that is now so revered.
Beginning with the rape of a girl named Ruthie (Althea Currier), the two men responsible, Luther (Hal Hopper) and Jonah (Doc Scortt), travel to work and pick up Jim (James Rucker) on the way. Jim is married to the beautiful Lorna (Lorna Maitland), who is sexually unsatisfied by the nice-guy Jim. Luther proceeds to tease Jim about Lorna at work, while an escaped convict (Mark Bradley) forces himself onto Lorna. Lorna is extremely turned on, and invites the convict back to the house where she feeds and washes him. Clearly, it's not the most complex of plots, but we are in familiar Meyer territory with square-jawed men, put-upon women, and a funky jazz score.
One of the most familiar traits of a Meyer film is the narrator. Commonly, the role of the narrator in his films was to play the traditional man, one that obeyed the values and traditions of the 1950's American. The idea of sexual repression was clearly something that amused Meyer, and in Lorna, he employs James Griffith to play 'the Man of God', who is littered throughout the film addressing the audience directly to camera and questioning their moral fibre. He introduces the film, and this leads to one of the best moments in the films. He stands in the middle of a wide desert road, allowing the camera to glide past him and forward into the unknown as the jazz score kicks in. It's a lovely little touch, and a clear indication that this isn't simple another nudie-cutie.
This is far from his best work, with Lorna being relatively subdued in comparison to his more wilder visions such as Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) and especially Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970), and Lorna's pandering to the violent convict may seem rather chauvinistic in comparison to the majority of Meyer's output, where the female was quite often the dominant sex. But this was only the beginning of a now widely-celebrated career, so Meyer was still very much honing his craft. His sense of humour is unmistakable however, and one of the standout scenes has the despicable Luther writing and performing a song about Lorna's adultery to Jonah. It's played out so naturally that the two start to really laugh, making the scene really quite wonderful. It's this kind of playfulness that make Meyer's output such as joy to watch.
Based upon the novel of the same name by Soviet science-fiction writer Alexander Beliaev, Amphibian Man tells the somewhat tragic tale of Ichtyander (Vladimir Korenev), a young, handsome man that has been given the use of gills by his father (Nikolai Simonov). Various sightings have led to him being dubbed a sea-devil, a monster of the sea who has attacked various boats. Rich fisherman Pedro (Mikhail Kozakov) is trying to win the affections of the beautiful Gutiere (Anastasiya Vertinskaya), but when she is attacked by a shark in the sea, Ichtyander rescues her and falls in love with her. She mistakenly thinks it was Pedro who saved her, and so Ichtyander must come onto land in search of his new love.
What is really on the surface a rather silly sci-fi movie that evokes the traditions of the U.S.'s B-movie output of the 1950's, it is actually a well-told fairytale love-story, giving most of its attentions to the doomed affair between Ichtyander and Gutiere. The loathsome Pedro is always on hand to scupper their attempts, with Gutiere trapped in a betrothal arranged by her father (Anatoliy Smiranin), who would rather see her marry into money than for true love. Themes of greed are ever-present throughout the film, reflecting the socialist realist attitudes of the time - a biting social commentary that the Soviet's were so good at (Soviet giants such as Eisenstein and Dovzhenko made their careers on propaganda) and helps add a gravitas to what might have been a straight forward B-movie.
Amphibian Man is also technically impressive. Directors Vladimir Chebotayrov and Gennadi Kazansky used a seaside community in Azerbaijan to film, and this results in some nice photography. One of the stand-out scenes follows the POV of Ichtyander as he searches the streets for Gutiere, with the hand-held photography adding a desperation to his quest. There are also moments that evoke the techniques of the silent greats, using tilted, close-up photography that heightens the psychological torment of the character, more prominently used in the climactic scenes with Pedro, as his lust for power and his alpha-male dominance over Gutiere reaches breaking point. I was surprised to learn after watching the film that it was a massive commercial success in 1962, as the film has since faded into obscurity. Although it's hardly a great film, there is enough in Amphibian Man to justify a re-discovery of the wealth of Societ sci-fi's from this era.
The morbid human fascination with on-screen death and all things grisly began as early as 1962, with the release of the hugely successful Mondo Cane, a 'documentary' that explored the bizarre traditions and practises of obscure sub-cultures that were, at the time, relatively unknown to Western audiences. The film was nominated for the Palme d'Or and even received an Academy Award nomination, and this success spawned a rather repulsive sub-genre known as mondo films, which generally exploited audiences ignorance and their undeniable thirst for death. Thankfully, mondo quickly became unfashionable and had all but died out by the early 1970's, with the exception of a few z-grade obscurities that passed under the radar. Yet it seemed that audiences weren't done with their lust for real cadavers, and the genre saw a resurgence in 1978 amidst an influx of midnight movies and cheap, gory horrors. This came in the form of Faces of Death, the cinematic equivalent of slowing down while passing a car accident.
We are first greeted by Dr. Francis B. Gross (Michael Carr), a surgeon who talks directly to camera and ponders the various 'faces of death' he has experiences throughout his career - that being the various ways in which a person can meet their doom. We are then taken on a journey throughout Gross's 'career', in which we meet an African tribe, a Satanic ritualistic cult, a man being eaten alive by a crocodile, slaughterhouses, a pitbull fight, and state executions, amongst others. It is presented as a genuine documentary, with the various vignettes trying to be palmed off as being genuine footage. The vast majority is fake and rather terribly done, and some is genuine, resulting in the more disturbing aspects of the film.
I've always been somewhat reluctant to watch Faces of Death, as although I was assured by Marc that the majority of the film is laughable, I have always found scenes of real violence genuinely unsettling. With the rise of the Internet occurring in my teens, I found myself unable to resist the lure and treated myself to endless photographs of gunshots, stabbings and car accidents, yet maturity seemed to have muted my curiosity. Yet after finally sitting through the (somewhat exhausting) 100 minutes of Faces of Death, I was dumbfounded by the approach of director John Alan Schwartz and his complete ineptness in the staged scenes, cancelling out the impact of the real footage, and making the entire film disappointingly laughable.
It may have convinced audiences back in 1978, but the film has badly dated. While it may still boast the tag of 'banned in 46 countries!', it is now desperately tame. Of course, there are some distressing scenes in the genuine footage (mainly in the scenes of seal clubbing and the suicide of Mary Ellen Brighton), Schwartz makes many mistakes in the staged scenes. I mean, did it not occur to him that a shot from inside an active gas chamber may just give the game away, or narrating "in the country of Africa..." may cause the film to come across as, well, plain stupid? Maybe I'm being a bit too harsh, as although the film is rather risible, it is still one of the most popular cult horror films of all time, and Dr. Gross's occasionally amusing narration does make some interesting observations, and at least attempts to form a coherent narrative. Time will tell as to where Faces of Death will remain in horror history, but for now it will remain a subject of curiosity, and nothing more.
The 1970's saw the spiritual aspects of the late-'60's counter-culture reduced to commodity. Bookshops and alternative stores became filled with "New Age" paraphernalia and self-help guru's. Western culture was looking for a replacement for organised religion, but what also came with this commercial business which extrapolated ideas from philosophy, religion and even transcendental drug cultures, was the deconstruction of ancient Eastern ideologies. Chinese and Indian religious traditions were ransacked and certain ideas were extracted for consumer consumption in book-of-the-week, escapist fad. It is no mistake that Hollywood cinema, along with the literary industries, collided with supernatural tales. The heavy emphasis on the search for a modern spirituality, along with a deep-seated religious guilt, lead to some of horror cinema's great narratives (The Exorcist (1973), The Omen (1976)), and Audrey Rose took similar root.
Audrey Rose was adapted from screenwriter Frank De Fellita's own novel, and uses these cultural trends, along with the omnipresent use of an adolescent at the centre, and the concept of reincarnation as the basis for familial horror. The middle class New York Templeton family are approached by Elliot Hoover (Anthony Hopkins), who's wife and daughter had died in a car crash several years earlier. He then claims that their daughter, Ivy (Susan Swift), is the reincarnation of his daughter Audrey Rose. Ivy's night terrors increase in intensity, something that Hoover states is his daughter crying to get out off a burning car. As Hoover begins to get access to Ivy, even her mother Janice (Marsha Mason) begins to believe when he calms Ivy down by calling her Audrey.
Hopkins' performance is terrifically balanced, portraying the character with both a sinister quality and the intensity of the grieving father, believing that he is in the presence of his daughters soul. However, the first half of the film is the better experience here, beginning with the mystery of Hoover, as he seems to stalk the family. The second half is a bit of a drag, falling into repetition and over-the-top pop-psychology. Directed by seasoned director Robert Wise, who had dealt with the supernatural in the excellent The Haunting (1963), it does have some interesting scenes, but as a whole it lacks the intensity required for the story. Due to the central theme of the alteration of the child, like so many films of the time, it fears youth autonomy, but with the inclusion of the trend, it does often create inferior visual imitation.
Considering
that Orson Welles's debut feature,Citizen Kane(1941),
is often cited as the best film of all time in critic lists for the past few
decades, his subsequent film career was erratic to say the least. From studio
interference and in cases re-editing, to funding problems, his film output was
sparse, but his status as a true genius in the medium has never dissipated.Othello(his second Shakespeare adaptation,
after 1948'sMacbeth),
was shot over a three year period largely due to the forthcoming bankruptcy of
the films Italian backers, which closed production, but extra funding came from
Welles himself, who used money made from acting jobs. But with the capricious
production a rich and beautiful film of the Shakespeare tragedy was brought to
the screen.
My knowledge and relationship with the work of the Baird is very limited. Outside of the cinema I have read 'Macbeth' and 'King Lear', and I saw a fringe production of Macbeth at the Battersea Arts Centre starring Corin Redgrave. Aside from these very narrow experiences, my other connections with the material is through film (which again mostly centre on Macbeth - Throne of Blood (1957), or Roman Polanski's version, - or Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet (1996)). Therefore my knowledge of the text of Othello was set at absolute zero, resulting in a fresh experience of the intricacies of the plot, and the relationships between the characters.
The story involves four central characters. Welles plays the title character, a Moorish General to the Venetian army, his wife Desdemona (Suzanna Cloutier) whom he secretly married, his lieutenant Cassio (Michael Laurence), and his ensign Iago (Michael MacLiammoir). After displaying his charm to the detractors off Othello and Desdemona's marriage, convincing them that he did not win her love through witchcraft, but through fantastical stories. A web of deceit builds within these characters, as they all tussle for control of both the situation and the affections of Desdemona. As the complexities of all the relationships begin to fuse, and the rage and jealousies of Othello erupt, Desdemona's want for individuality and freedom from male dominance leads to bloody conclusions.
With the erratic production came some incredible choices of production design. Filmed in Morocco, Italy and Venice, Welles made fantastic use of real locations, giving the images some urgency and architectural splendour. Filmed in black and white, the images justify the filmic function as light and shadow, the bright whites contrasting with the strong and powerful shade and silhouette. In the opening scene, the funeral procession moves in stark contrast to the burning sun in the sky. It is beautifully shot, utilising the remnants of building and the weaving canals through the structures of Venice, it is (I assume) a wonderful introduction to this very elaborate and involving narrative. Now I think I need to read some more Shakespeare.
Abel Ferrara's film that followed his notorious feature debut (ignoring his hardcore narrative, 9 Lives of a Wet Pussy (1975)), the infamous (in the UK at least) The Driller Killer (1979), Ms. 45 could at first sight, be a rehash of the slasher narrative, but with a female protagonist, or could simply be accused of following the rape-revenge tropes of films such as I Spit On Your Grave (1978). However, the story of Thana (Zoe Tamerlis Lund), a mute textile worker in New York, is a far more complex and metaphysical narrative, seeping with Freudian symbolism, and highlighting the male/female divide within modern society.
On the way home from work, Thana is dragged into an alleyway by an assailant (played by Ferrara) and ferociously raped. To add insult to injury, on arriving home, Thana is confronted with an armed robber, who, on discovering her inability to speak, rapes her again. This is the first scene that I realised what the film would offer in terms of symbolism and meaning. As Thana is raped, she holds tightly onto a faux red apple, as if she is grappling with the original sin of the garden of Eden. Does this image mean that Thana is having feelings of both guilt and fear? It is a simple yet powerful image, which is suddenly obliterated when she strikes the rapist down with the object of original sin, then completes the attack with the shackles of domesticity, when Thana beats the man to death with an iron. The fusion of the apple and iron could represent two pinnacle images of female repression, as placed upon by the "other" gender for centuries of civilisation.
It is an extreme, and succinct way to begin the film, with the incidents occurring so close together, and the already established timidity of Thana (whose handicap would render any person somewhat fearful in a modern metropolis), her nervousness around the male gender becomes heightened. Her paranoia soon reveals an ability to kick back at the dominant gender. She begins by chopping up the man who raped her in her home (she takes the parts out one at a time throughout the film), then is jolting into real action after a couple of confrontations with men on the street. The timidity is thrown off, as she armours herself with "sexuality". The late-'70's early '80's ubiquity for heavily made-up faces is used as a symbol of sexual power, the bright red lips pulsing, and the beret, a symbol of military power (incidentally the head wear was worn by Patty Hearst when taking part in "terrorist" activity with her kidnappers in the 1970's). Thana takes her new powerful image, along with a .45 pistol, stalking the streets, attacking the misogynists of New York night life, penetrating them and taking the power back for the female.
Ms. 45 is an over the top feminist tract, but one that piles on the Freudian subtext. In one scene, Thana is framed with the door to a toilet behind her, the sign "Men" next to her head, as if it is a thought bubble from a comic strip, her internal protestation at all that men represent. This happens at a significant moment, Thana's boss's advances are met with her newly acquired power, and she stares at him emitting sexuality, but only Thana and the audience can understand what will inevitably happen to him. Later at an office party, Thana, dressed as a nun, is confronted with a sister (not in the habit sort of way, but simply a member of the same gender), with confusing iconography. She stands with her skirt lifted at the front holding a knife as if it were an erect phallus, awaiting the opportunity to penetrate, bringing an ellipsis to the narrative.
Ferrara certainly made a far more accomplished film here than his previous shocker. Lund (only 17 at the time) plays the balance of timidity and power incredibly well. She clearly was a smart person, which is further exacerbated when her career shows up with a credit for co-writing (with Ferrara) Bad Lieutenant (1992). I was completely taken by surprise when watching Ms. 45. I was expecting a grim and possibly misogynistic mess (like the aforementioned I Spit On Your Grave), but found an incredibly rewarding thriller, that really fills the screen with images and ideas surrounding the gender roles. And unlike the excessive The Driller Killer, whose artists block scenario was a trifle silly, Ms. 45 creates a very real, and almost justified context in which to present a genuine femme fatale.
With East Gemany planning an attack during a cultural festival, they invite American rock 'n' roll singer Nick Rivers (Val Kilmer) to perform as a distraction for the audiences. Rivers, a sort of Beach Boys meets Elvis Presley, soon gets embroiled in the French resistance movement when he meets the beautiful Hillary Flammond (Lucy Gutteridge) who is searching for her missing father Dr. Paul (Michael Gough). Along with a group of misfit revolutionaries with various French pun's for names, and Hillary's lost-love Nigel (Christopher Villiers), they must break into the high-security prison where Dr. Paul is being held. 
